The Truth: Whoa man! I never thought I'd see that. A fed out-smoking me. What are you, dude? FBI? DEA?

Carl Johnson: No, I'm more like a private investigator.

The Truth: Friend, you give off a positive energy. How about some Vietnamese opium?

Carl Johnson: Nah, I don't get down with that.

The Truth: But how do I know I can trust you then?

Carl Johnson: What, I'm working for you now?

The Truth: I'm a man of peace but some squares across that ridge are not respecting my peace. I mean survivalist maniacs. Right wingers. Fascists! They have a harvester and I need one. Get it, and then you can pay me. Amaste, Carl.

Carl Johnson: The fuck that mean? Later, freak.

(Carl arrives at The Farm, and starts to make his way at the back of the farm)

Survivalist #1: You come to the wrong farm, boy.

Survivalist #2: Beat him down, it's all he's good for!

Survivalist #3: Hey, who is this guy?

Survivalist #4: Dunno but he looks kinda shifty!

Survivalist #5: Roll him in some pig shit!

(Carl approaches the combine harvester)

Combine harvester driver: He's a combine rustler!! That son of a bitch is stealin' Betsy!